According to Plan
by Paineful
Summary: Victoria Everglot wasn't quite ready to become a bride, nor was she ready to receive one. [Emily x Victoria. A retelling of The Corpse Bride with Victoria as the main character.]
1. Chapter 1

Title: According to Plan

Author: Paineful

Genre: Romance

Rating: T

Status: In Progress

Summary: Victoria Everglot wasn't quite ready to become a bride; nor was she ready to receive one. (Emily x Victoria. A retelling of The Corpse Bride with Victoria as the main character.)

Notes: Of course, this fic won't really follow the movie scene-for-scene, event-for-event. That'd be horribly boring. I can't help but feel as if Victoria would have made a better, and cuter, match for Emily--so here you have it. Call me crazy if you like, but I can't be the _only_ person who thought of this pairing.

* * *

"According to plan..." 

How tired she was of hearing those words! Ever since the day Victoria's mother and father had announced she was to marry--Victor--Victor something-or-other--all they could talk about, and fuss about, and remind her about, was that it was _extremely_ important to make a stunning first impression. Everything had to be meticulous to the letter; everything had to go--

According to plan.

So far, nothing had gone according to plan. Victor Van--er--was remarkably clumsy. That isn't to say he wasn't kind, and sincere, and a gentlemen; he was all of these things. But Victoria hadn't expected her husband-to-be to light her mother on fire during their wedding rehearsal. Of course, Victoria was sure he had only the best of intentions when he'd done it.

It was a stressful night, to say the least. The pastor had called off the practice ceremony, screaming vehemently about how no one was going to get married in _his_ church until _someone_ had learned their vows, and overall the evening hadn't ended on a pleasant note. With a frown, Victoria had parted ways with her--fiance--and slipped out into the night. It wasn't proper for a woman to leave the house unaccompanied, to be sure, but amidst all the chaos and tumult, no one had noticed her absence.

And that is the story of how she came upon the misty, chilled woods, and how she came to rest on a patch of dried ground beneath the moonlit sky, her head cradled dismally between her hands.

She thought Victor was quite charming--to be sure. And she supposed that if she couldn't have a say in who she married, then she might as well marry someone she could see herself getting along with. Victor was musically refined; he played the piano beautifully, a trait Victoria had always coveted. And he did seem _so_ kind; or at least, Victoria was almost certain he was kind. It was rather hard to tell what the man was really like while he was acting so dreadfully nervous...

Yes! That was a start. At least they would have something to talk about. The piano, and--well. Surely they would have something to talk about? Already Victoria sat there amidst the dead trees, searching and searching for conversation starters. "_Good morning, Victor; what do you think of the presence of debauchery and infidelity as prevalent themes in The White Devil_?" -- What if he'd never _seen_ The White Devil? Victoria couldn't blame him; such a dry play--

She cut her thoughts short and shook her head gently. "This will never do."

It served as a shock to hear her own voice. Victoria lifted her head and stared around, dark eyes wide, searching for her mystery speaker. But no; she was still alone; and still very much engaged to a man she knew next to nothing about.

What was his surname, again...?

Victoria pressed her lips together and gazed softly--rather sadly--down at the wedding band around her finger. Surprisingly, Victor had managed to get through that part of the ceremony without knocking anything over or lighting anyone on fire. Victoria tilted her head to one side; stretching her fingers out before her; admiring the way the moonlight caught the little golden ring at such extraordinary angles. It was enough to bring a smile to her lips; small and dainty, but a smile.

And then--a frown again. It meant nothing. The ring meant nothing.

Victoria closed her eyes and turned her head away in shame. What was marriage, anyway? What was betrothal? Why was any of this necessary? Wasn't there some other way to save her poor, dear old parents from debt? Perhaps she could go to work--start a new business, propagate wealth--

Such a notion was laughable at best.

Victoria sighed against the whispering wind and rose from the bare tree stump she'd seated herself upon. Mentally chastizing herself--and hoping against hope nothing was on her dress, for fear her parents would notice, crestfallen--she slipped the ring off her finger.

"Someday, my dear..." Victoria said, turning to her left. (What a peculiar tree root protruded from the ground; it was even taller than the stump.) She smiled in vain. "Maybe I'll wake up one morning and realize I do love you, after all."

She could always hope, couldn't she? The tree root was just the right size and shape for Victoria to pretend it was an outstretched hand; so when she placed the ring on its knotted finger (it wasn't _really_ a finger), she could very easily imagine the hand belonged to Victor. Yes; it was their wedding day, and he was smiling as they exchanged rings and vows; and she found it in herself to smile in return, with newfound hope... Maybe, by the time they were married, she would truly know the man she was marrying...

"Well, my dear?" Victoria asked, her head to the side and a muted smile on her face. "Will you be mine?" Pitiful; she almost hoped he would say no...

But "he" was rising from the ground, the earth rumbling and shaking around him in quilts of dry earth; the forest floor split to free him, and he rose, higher and higher... Wait a minute; wasn't that a tree root...?

Victoria's mouth and eyes rounded in horror; but all she could do was step back, and back, farther and farther from the breaking ground, until her gloved hands raised to cover her parted lips and stifle an inaudible scream...

A bride stood before Victoria, her skin the color of ice; her hair, a dull, dead blue, tumbling down her back like gnarled shreds of rope. Her eyes were big and wide, and though they seemed a bit _too_ dry, their enormity made them appear as if glowing. Flesh was missing from her right cheek, but how perfect her cheeks were; such a full shape, such high cheekbones, Victoria had never before seen...

...She was beautiful. She was everything Victoria's parents shunned from her life; something haunting, something enchanting...something profoundly forbidden, and most remarkably enticing.

And if Victoria thought the lovely bride's eyes couldn't become any bigger, any rounder, she was mistaken; they slowly widened, and though there were hollow spaces between her worn eyeballs and the eyelids veiling them, really, Victoria found that she didn't mind at all.

The corpse bride gazed upon her with rapture and stretched her arms forward, one skeletal, one covered in soft flesh; in one swift motion like a glide, she lovingly took Victoria's face into her hands. Her hands, flesh and bone, were cold against Victoria's skin; Victoria felt the heat escaping her cheeks, and for more than one reason...

"Always," said the bride in a beautifully airy voice, clear and chiming and sleek as the wind, "always... Oh, I will be yours forevermore..."

Blood pounded against Victoria's eardrums. Her wedding band was still on the dead woman's bony ring finger; this she noticed before she shuddered and collapsed in an untidy heap.

Snow began to fall from the sky.

* * *

Dedicated to Arlene, in hopes that she will put down the futa long enough to read this. 


	2. Chapter 2

Here's the second chapter. I'm having a bit too much fun with this. Now that the SAT's are out of the way, I'm free to keep writing.

Thanks to everyone for your kind reviews!

* * *

The air felt delightfully cool... No... Too cold. Cold as ice. 

Victoria's eyes fluttered open against the falling snow. It drifted down from the heavens slowly, idly, as if it did not really care wherever it fell--even if it happened to fall upon her eyelids.

Victoria shivered and pushed herself up from the ground, resting on her elbows. Dread wrenched her heart; surely her lovely violet gown was ruined! And her hair--Hildegarde had worked so tirelessly to create a perfectly round bun--imagine the hairs that must have fallen loose--

Who was that leaning over her?

Victoria's vision blurred, then shifted into focus. A blue face; full lips, large eyes. Skin stuck held fast to bones, clinging tightly to the curve of a skull--

_Her_.

Victoria pushed herself further from the ground and sat up straight. The face of the haunting corpse bride loomed nearer still rather than drawing away. Her lips were pursed in worry.

Victoria tried to settle upon what to say, but could only come up with--

"Oh. Hello."

And how incredibly dull she felt for lack of a better response.

The dead woman certainly didn't seem to find her dull. At once, her whole face brightened--or as much as it could without the vibrance of color. No blood meant no blush... "Oh!" The bride finally pulled away, holding a skeletal hand to her lips as she laughed. Her laughter was refreshing to Victoria's ears; too seldom had she heard laughter... "I thought I gave you a heart attack! Would you like me to try again?"

"It's quite alright," Victoria said with a nervous smile, rising to stand (or as best as she could with the severe discomfort of her corset weighing down upon her). "Really, I'm fi--what?" All motions came to an abrupt stop; her hands brushing against her gown, fidgeting to get comfortable again.

The rotting bride merely smiled placidly.

Victoria tried her best to make sense of the situation--and found that there was none to be had. She gave up.

"...Well!" she finally managed after too lengthy of a silence. "I'd...better be going. I'll just--take my--"

In that moment, Victoria had reached her hand towards the bride's to retrieve her ring; but the bride caught _both_ of her hands in _both_ of hers and began swinging her enthusiastically around in a shapeless dance, laughing with warmth against the cold, wintry-night air.

Victoria hadn't the faintest idea how to react to this and settled for wide eyes; wider and wider as the dead bride spun her around and around. She felt no dizziness as most would have (she never did); nor was she alarmed, now that the fainting was out of the way. She felt that no matter how wide her eyes became, they could never reach the round, innocent luminescence of the beautiful specter twirling her in her arms...

But really, why was she dwelling on such strange thoughts when even stranger occurences were to be had?

"--Please," Victoria finally articulated; and the woman slowed to a halt, frowning and clutching Victoria's gloved hands in her decaying ones.

"Thank you," said Victoria meekly. She rested her eyes thoughtfully on their entwined hands; slowly withdrawing her own.

The woman opposite her smiled dreamily, her eyes lidding over and head lolling to the side.

"I'm terribly sorry, Ms...?" Victoria began after an awkward pause.

"Emily," the resurrected bride supplied, an encouraging smile on her face. "Yes?"

Emily? The name suited her, Victoria thought; it fit her perfectly, like a glove slid over a long, elegant hand; like the white gloves Victoria imagined Emily must have once worn... What had happened to them? Had they decomposed beneath the ground, leaving only shreds of her wedding gown and once-exquisite veil?

"Ah, yes--Ms. Emily." Victoria folded her hands together imploringly. "I'm terribly sorry, but I need my ring back--"

"_What_?" Emily cut in, her face suddenly darkening; eyes narrowing, jaws stretching taut and brows knitting stormily together. Victoria could just see Emily's teeth through the tear in her cheek.

The change was dramatic enough that Victoria's hands and mouth dropped. How could such an angelic creature become such a--such a scorned being, in such short time? Had any time even elapsed? It hardly seemed like it...

"I _am_ sorry," Victoria repeated again, quiet, and the slightest bit unsure of herself. "But you see, it's--"

"You take it back, then?" Emily asked, fire in her dead eyes. "You don't want to marry me after all?"

"--Marry?" Victoria repeated, dropping her hands helplessly to her sides. She felt her eyes widen until the eyelids would open no more. Her lips curved against the last syllable of the single word, frozen open in shock.

"What else could you have meant by it?" Emily folded her arms and turned her body away from Victoria, clearly offended.

"Well," said Victoria, resisting the urge to scratch her neck (it was not ladylike)--she couldn't come up with a proper explanation. She shook her head gently to air out her thoughts. "Where did you come from? How is it that you're..." The noblewoman gazed upon the corpse bride; her frail, decaying wedding gown, torn wedding veil, and skin as blue as frostbite. Under the glow of the moon, against the lazily-falling snowflakes, her ice-like face (remarkably in tact, if Victoria did say so herself) seemed soft--as soft as freshly-fallen snow.

Victoria caught Emily peering at her expectantly through one open eye. Emily quickly snapped her eye shut and turned her entire body away.

"Alive?" Victoria finished in a whisper, her question near-forgotten. Surely this couldn't be real. Surely such beauty was...why, it just didn't exist...

Emily turned her head slowly over her shoulder, eyes open and a frown tugging at her cold lips. Victoria felt terrible. Had she caused her such discomfort that she couldn't even face her?

"Please don't frown so," said Victoria with a small one of her own. "I beg your pardon. I--didn't mean to hurt your feelings..."

"Is it because we're both women?" Emily suddenly inquired, turning to face her in earnest. "Were you expecting a...corpse _groom_?"

"To be honest--" Victoria paused. Should she tell her she wasn't expecting a single thing? But the disappointment on Emily's face, mingled with the hope in her round eyes... Victoria felt she couldn't forgive herself if she said one more word to injure the poor dear's soul.

And yet, what a beautiful portrait Emily's sorrow made. Victoria's esteemed parents had many portraits hanging on their walls; none of the portraits portrayed a smiling face. Victoria always felt they would have looked a _little_ nicer if they would at least smile--yet here was Emily, a soul tragic at first glance (Victoria wondered why...), and Victoria had never seen anyone make sorrow look so beautiful and profound.

Could she _really_ be...real?

"You're wonderful just the way you are..."

Victoria covered her mouth to stifle a gasp. She couldn't possibly have said that out loud! Color invaded her cheeks, the combined effort of chilling weather and utter embarrassment. To compliment someone so openly, when one hardly knew the aforementioned someone... It was simply inappropriate. What would her parents say?

Words failing her wasn't enough; thoughts failed her too. For, in that moment, Emily swept across the snow-dusted ground, a serene smile on her lips; she took Victoria's hands in her own and lowered them from her blushing face.

Victoria's hands were cold, even under her gloves. The fabric was too thin; really, that was the problem. The fabric of the Everglots' once-fine clothing was thinning ever-steadily now that they were penniless.

And yet... How peculiar. Emily was dead; her hands should have been cold as ice. And they were... And yet, Victoria immediately felt warmth returning to her palms, her curled fingers. Was she imagining it?

"Dear..." Emily whispered against the wind. "...Your name?"

"That would be--" Was this a trick question? Why couldn't Victoria remember the answer? "--Victoria," she said, her name pronounced with a faint hush.

"Victoria..." Emily's hands left hers. (So cold--why couldn't she keep holding them?) They trailed up, up, slowly up Victoria's face; lingering momentarily; trailing again.

"Y-Yes?" Victoria stammered. Quite suddenly, the aristocrat realized this was the closest she'd ever been to another human being--and the human being in question wasn't even alive.

Victoria's eyes flitted nervously over the details of Emily's ice-blue face, desperately trying to avoid the bride's eyes. This situation was entirely too embarrassing--too improper. What _would_ Mrs. Everglot say? Victoria couldn't even bear to fathom a guess...

And then--then--her vision was cut off, her breath stolen away. A pair of frozen lips sealed over Victoria's warm ones. Victoria's heartbeat sky-rocketed dangerously. The walls within her chest felt too tight, too restraining. Here she was, being kissed by a--a woman! A corpse, at that! (Yes, Victoria had very near forgotten that small, trivial detail). And yet, it was an enjoyable kiss; fire colliding with ice, though the fire was all Emily's...

They parted. Emily smiled placidly. A rebellious blush refused to leave Victoria's fair face.

"That was...very nice," Victoria murmured lamely, cursing that her lack of eloquence should show itself now of all times. "What--what for?" she asked, forcing dignity into her stammers.

" 'What for?' " Emily's laughter rang through the forest, a clear, airy bell. "Why, you'd forgotten to kiss the bride! You silly thing."

A skeletal hand slipped under Victoria's. Open-mouthed and pink-faced, Victoria stared down upon their joined hands, marvelling at the union of flesh and bone.

"Are you quite sure you want to marry _me_?" Victoria asked, raising her eyes. What a strange question to ask; there was a variety of questions Victoria could have asked--none of which she could even remember. "We only just met. It seems to be an awfully--hasty decision to make."

Emily's face registered bewilderment. "But you freed me!" she said. "Why would I not?"

And then, logically, the next step was to ask what Emily meant by "freed." But circumstances didn't work out in favor of logic; for at that moment, a startling gunshot rippled through the forest. Victoria flinched at the horrible sound and covered her ears; Emily's lovely eyes widened in horror.

"What--" Victoria whispered, ears echoing, "--is going on?"

Emily's mouth formed soundless words. She shook her head.

Shouts ricocheted through the trees; urgent, frantic shouts. They seemed to be calling for something, or rather, someone...

"_Victoria_!"

--Her name? Yes, of course it was her name; what a stupid thing to ask! And that must have been her small, overexcitable father with the hunting rifle. Who else would shoot into the woods _before_ inquiring as to its occupants? Victoria smiled mutely, for she didn't _really_ feel it was an occasion to smile over.

Emily's eyebrows rose--then lowered and furrowed together. "_No_," she whispered, adamant and hush.

Everything was so fast--so sudden, so unexplained--Victoria had only time to utter a single syllable ("I--") before her hand was snatched up by her bride's, and a sudden, gravitational pull jerked her violently across the forest floor; down, and down, and down.

An arm, cold skin still covering its bones, wrapped possessively around her waist as they sank.

X X X

Everything felt warmer. Victoria was certain it wasn't snowing, either. And why was she kneeling on the ground? The very warm, _dry_ ground, too, she might add.

Victoria pushed herself off the ground and rose to stand. At first, the length of Emily's dirty, corroded wedding gown took up Victoria's vision, and she could see--and think of--nothing else. But the minute she was standing face-to-face with her bride, she could see her surroundings--and she gasped.

The sky was a hideous, barren shade of gray, patches of dull orange-into-red light filtering through the thick clouds. Crows in formation flew in an endless circle, their wings seemingly tireless. Smokestacks puffed violent bursts of smoke into the sky at uneven intervals (Victoria wondered if this contributed to the sky's gray, burnt texture). The buildings all around the town--was this really a town?--were tall, skinny, lop-sided, and dillapidated. Carelessly discarded bones littered the ground all around her, a skull tossed in for variety here and there. And--worse still--a putrid, sludgy river of bright green twisted haphazardously through the town, and Victoria was standing right next to its edge.

"Lovely, isn't it?" Emily asked, evidently mistaking Victoria's horror for fixation. She took Victoria's hand in hers once more and led her away from the spot--towards a wide, coal-black bridge that stretched over the filthy, green river. It was wiry and metal-looking, but Victoria still wondered how it held beneath them. "Welcome to your new home! Shall I show you around?"

Victoria summoned up her sensibility in spite of her disbelief. "Where _are_ we?" She turned her head over her shoulder as a man wearing a top hat passed them on the bridge. The skin had been torn away from the entire left side of his face, and the weapon that had done it was still fastened blade-first into his shoulder. Victoria gaped in terror.

"Oh, this?" Emily asked with a dismissive laugh. "Why, the land of the dead! Where else?"

Victoria's head swam in a spell of dizziness. Finally, when they'd crossed the bridge, she asked--"Does that mean _we're_...dead?"

"Hmm," said Emily thoughtfully as they wound through the crowd of the deceased. "--Oh! Mind the rats."

Victoria nearly stepped on a particularly large one. It squeaked indignantly and raced off. Victoria held a hand to her mouth to keep her contents in.

"You see," said Emily, stopping abruptly and turning Victoria's body towards her own. She looked particularly fierce, and Victoria once again found herself admiring the dead woman's countenance. "I have died. But not by natural means!"

Victoria surmised as much. "You do seem quite young," she remarked.

"Indeed..." Emily dropped her hands and turned her head away, her frail body racked with a pitiful sigh. "I'm afraid I'm using you."

"Using...?" Victoria asked, her head naturally inclining to one side.

Emily tossed her arms helplessly into the air--her left arm went flying--and sat heavily down on a bench made of the same wiry metal as the bridge. Victoria dutifully retrieved Emily's arm, sat beside her on the less-than-durable bench, and carefully hooked the bones back into place.

And as Victoria attended to her, Emily recounted her tale.

"I would not have been dead," Emily said, "if my fiance hadn't murdered me."

"How terrible," Victoria remarked, her heart swelling with sympathy and disgust.

"Very much so," Emily replied indignantly. "Oh, the crook! He--it's just terrible. He--thank you," said Emily with warmth, raising her arm and flexing the reattached bones.

"You're quite welcome," said Victoria with a fleeting smile--and then a frown. "As you were saying?"

"Yes." Emily sniffed. "Well. Where was I... Ah, yes. I should have known better than to run off with a man I'd known no more than three days! But I've always been a tad impulsive," Emily modestly confessed.

"Just a tad," Victoria said reassuringly, giving her right hand a squeeze.

Emily smiled.

"--But yes," said Emily. "He told me to bring all of my family's riches with me, and we would run away together at precisely three AM on such-and-such a date. And yet still, I didn't find this even remotely suspicious." She pressed her lips together grimly. "I've always been inclined that way. A tad _too_ naive."

"Just a tad," Victoria said, "I'm sure."

"Yes, just a tad. But where was I... Oh! You really mustn't keep interrupting me like that, you know; how often you make me forget my train of thought."

"I'm very sorry," Victoria said meekly. "Please continue with your story."

Emily, satisfied with this response, launched into a full-fledged narration.

"It was a dreadful affair! I tried and I tried to steal away some of my parents' money. I could secure nothing; not jewels, not even a penny! Their eyes were hawk-like; they prevented me from acting; and when I finally _did_ act, when I thought they couldn't see me..."

"Yes?" Victoria prompted, enthralled by the tale.

Emily gave her a stare. "You really mustn't interrupt me!" she said with a temper.

"I--" Victoria checked herself and lapsed into silence.

"There, there." Emily gave Victoria's hand a pat. "It's not your fault. You're just built like that, I suppose; can't help it. It is rather charming. But yes--when my mother and father (may they rest in peace if they are deceased) discovered what I was doing, they disowned me on the spot!"

Victoria stared at Emily wide-eyed, but remembered to keep silent.

"--Well?" Emily asked with disappointment. "Aren't you going to say anything on the matter? You really ought to, you know."

Poor Victoria was so confused with the mixed suggestions she was receiving. "Yes--I'm sorry. That's terrible... How unfair of them not to consider your standing." And yet, Victoria realized, her own parents were likely to act the very same way if they ever caught Victoria trying to steal _their _money (if they had any).

"Yes," said Emily with a heavy frown. She took a pause before continuing her recount. "I knew then that my marriage to my lord was destiny. Without my promised riches, I ran to the oak tree we were to meet beneath--the very same one we'd agreed upon. I knew that if he loved me, he wouldn't care whether or not I'd secured my parents' wealth--and you must understand, at the time, I was very much convinced that he loved me, and I him."

"You must have been," said Victoria on the assumption that Emily still wanted her responses.

"--How many times _must _I tell you," said Emily impatiently. "How many times!"

Victoria sank down in her seat with embarrassment.

"Now I don't remember where I was going with all this."

Victoria didn't dare remind her for fear of invoking her wrath.

"--Oh! Yes," Emily said cheerily. "Well, I met him at the aforementioned time, and he seemed utterly delighted to see me. But when I explained that I hadn't managed to secure any money at all..."

Emily paused dramatically. Victoria said nothing.

"You really ought to say something there," said Emily. "Anything will do. Such as 'Go on' or 'Pray tell, what happened next?' "

"Forgive me," said Victoria, still very much bemused.

"It's quite alright." A slow, dream-like smile settled upon Emily's face--Victoria returned it with a small, encouraged one of her own--and Emily continued. "He wasn't very happy. He..."

"What did he do?" Victoria asked, finally deciphering the structuring behind Emily's storytelling.

Emily's entire mood suddenly changed. All pretenses of cheerfulness--all eloquent, well-crafted speech and narration--gave way as abruptly as her shoulders fell. Victoria gazed into her face and saw a woman betrayed; lost and far-away. Her heart cried out for her. She wanted to travel there--where was "there?"--and find her...

"Stabbed me," said Emily. She turned in her seat--turned so the back of her head, her beautiful, knotted blue hair, were facing Victoria--and lifted both the veil and the hair from her back, brushing them over her shoulder and holding them out of the way.

Gaping holes littered Emily's back, between her shoulderblades. They were numerous--innumerable. Rust-colored stains still tainted the white wedding gown.

Victoria let out an involuntary gasp and turned away, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Twenty-six times," said Emily in a dead, ice-cold voice, turning back around in her seat; folding her hands loosely over her lap. "Twenty-six times..."

When it became evident that Emily really wasn't going to continue, Victoria reached over and covered Emily's hands with one of her own. Warmth spread from Victoria to Emily; in that moment, it was as if Emily was alive again.

"I'm very sorry, Emily. I can't tell you how sorry I am." Her heart went out to the betrayed bride. She imagined a living, healthy Emily, all dressed up in her wedding gown, excited to be free of her home and to begin a life anew with the man who was supposed to love her--only to--only to--

It made Victoria think of her own situation. How did she know that man she was engaged to--Victor, yes?--wasn't unlike Emily's own betrothed? Victoria doubted Victor would stab her twenty-six times in the back, but it was almost, almost similar--they were making a promise they couldn't keep. A promise that wasn't real, was never real.

"And then..." Emily went on in a weak voice, slowly regaining power--Victoria hadn't realized she wasn't finished, but Emily didn't scold her-- "You came along. You asked me to marry you...and the spell upon my weighted soul was broken." Emily closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat. "Somewhere, somehow...I heard your voice, and it breathed new life into my broken bones. I suppose..." She shook her head. "I suppose I thought that true love would mend my past and relieve my heart. And I found it in the form of you..."

Victoria took her hand away and frowned down at her lap.

"Could you ever love me?" Emily asked. How forward she was--it amazed and compelled Victoria. Victoria was never so forward before, not once in her entire life; and here Emily was, forward and forthright in death. "Or was I too hasty in accepting your offer? Perhaps this has all been a...a mistake..."

Victoria had to agree; it certainly was a mistake. And yet...thinking of it as a mistake was the most awful idea that Victoria could possibly fathom. It wrenched her heart to think that meeting the undead Emily was a mistake. Already, Emily was more real than anyone--than anything--Victoria had ever known...and a poor man living off of scraps will hardly wish to return to his former lifestyle after tasting the food of the rich.

"No," Victoria said all of a sudden, startled by her own resolve. "...No."

"No? No, it's not a mistake, or no, you could never..."

"It's not a mistake," said Victoria timidly. She shook her head. "No... You have been wronged, Emily; terribly wronged. It is not a mistake that you should return to life. You deserve a chance to..."

Emily, who seemed to be the more talkative of the two, spoke nothing.

"...A chance to seek vengeance," Victoria said all of a sudden, her heart inflamed with passion.

She listened to herself and was startled once more. Was she suggesting--a murder? How unlike herself! These affairs didn't concern her, and--and murder was an awful, terrible crime, never justified--the very thought of murder froze her blood and made her throat burn--

"Vengeance?" Emily asked, tilting her head. "No, please. _Do_ go on," she said with a hint of righteous fury.

"I..." Victoria swallowed. "Well, I'm not quite sure _what_ I'm saying. It's just..." She turned her head to face Emily and found her staring back at her, expectant and intent. It was rather alarming. No one had ever hung to Victoria's words like this; treated her like what she said was remotely important. The notion spurred her on, lent her enthusiasm. "It hardly feels right that it should end this way! Should your lord not feel a taste--at least a taste--of what you've been forced to suffer? How can evil men get away with such evil deeds?"

"Yes," Emily said passionately, rising from the bench in a sweep. Victoria watched her, transfixed. How gracefully she moved; Victoria could never stand in such fluid motions. "Yes..." She curled her hands into fists and raised them, her eyes on the orange patches in the sky. "I'll murder him right back!"

"You will?" Victoria asked, alarmed.

"Yes," said Emily. She spun around to face her lovingly. "And you're going to help me do it!"

"--I am?" Victoria's heart dropped into her stomach.

Emily gave no verbal response. She swept Victoria up from the bench, their hands entwined, and laughed with relief and liveliness; she spun Victoria around beneath the charcoal sky, amidst the rats and bones of the deadlands.

What a regretful and troublesome situation. It seemed, Victoria realized, that she was to murder a man she'd never before met.

* * *

I don't know how much longer this'll be. I have the basic story all mapped out; I just don't know how long it's actually going to be once I write it down. I do know, however, that updates will probably be in much faster succession now that my SAT's are out of the way. 

Again, thanks so much for your kind reviews. I didn't think anyone except my shota-reading friend would read this at all. I'm very grateful and hope I haven't bored you to death.


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